I’m not sure what to make of Peter Matthiessen’s novel In Paradise. I’ve never read Matthiessen before but I have wanted to read his nonfiction book Snow Leopard for quite some time. I have never been especially interested in his fiction. But as things work out in odd ways sometimes, it is his fiction I read first.
It also happens that Matthiessen died in April of this year, just a few days before In Paradise was published. What made me want to read this book if what I really wanted to read was his nonfiction? I read a glowing review that made the book sound so very special that I immediately placed my name on the library hold list for it. My turn has come and, while the writing is good and Matthiessen raises some interesting issues and questions in the book, I did not find it to be particularly special in any way.
It is 1996 and we follow Clements Olin, poet, academic, expert in Holocaust literature, to a meditative retreat at Auschwitz. Early on we learn that Olin is of no particular religion (though we learn he was baptized Episcopalian), that his family is Polish, and even came from Oswiecim, the Polish name of the town the Germans call Auschwitz. His name is actually Olinski and his grandfather is a Baron. Olin was born in Poland just before the war. His father and father’s parents were able to leave for the United States. Olin’s mother did not go to the U.S. and the family will not talk about her. All he has of her is a photo, young and pretty leaning from a window in her family’s house, smiling at the photographer.
Olin isn’t especially interested in the retreat. His grandparents are dead and his father is recently deceased. All three had sternly insisted he never go to Poland. Now they are no longer around to stop him, he has decided to go and try and find out about his mother.
There are about 100 people at the retreat. They are actually staying at the concentration camp. Each morning they are to go sit on the train platform where the Jews were unloaded at the camp, and meditate. In the evenings there are short talks, but mainly anyone who feels compelled is invited to stand and talk. This causes all kinds of conflict as you can imagine because among those gathered are Jews from around the world, a few Holocaust survivors, some Buddhists, a former monk, the priest from the local Church, several nuns from a nearby convent, and a number of unaffiliated individuals like Olin and some non-Jewish Germans.
The Germans want to be absolved of the crimes their country committed. The Catholics want to mend fences but mostly refuse to admit the church’s complicity in sending all of the Jews in Oswiecim to die at the camp. And there is Mr. Earwig, an apt name for the most caustic of people. He calls it as he sees it and refuses to feel bad about hurting anyone’s feelings. No one can understand why he is even there. Of course, when we find out his story, it is heartbreaking.
And that is what kept me from finding this book special. Of course Mr. Earwig is so mean because he is in pain and has a tragic history. Of course we learn that Olin’s mother was actually Jewish, not Episcopalian, and died in the camp. Of course Olin feels romantic stirrings for a rebellious nun who also seems to feel something for him in return. Of course they each go their separate ways at the end, sadder but wiser. And then there is the ironic title. I could probably have put up with all of it if it hadn’t been for the love story. It felt artificial, a forced thing to show that there can be something beautiful even in the ugliest of places. On the plus side, all the emotions, anger, hatred, uncertainty and sadness the weeklong stay at Auschwitz stirs up are not easily cleansed and Matthiessen refuses to let everyone leave feeling healed and content. Our Mr. Earwig finds what he came looking for and leaves just as pissed off as he was when he arrived.
The writing itself is strong and sturdy. There is nothing maudlin about the tone nor is it overly serious or depressing. In spite of the volatility of the characters, the book remains careful and respectful. A bit too careful really. Overall not a bad book. I just failed to find what the reviewer I read believed was so special about it. If you decide to read it, I hope you find it.
I’m not sure how fiction can ever deal with extreme historical events such as the Holocaust. I don’t know if it is possible for most people to really absorb them. I think the books of Primo Levi did make it possible for the reader to understand but I am not sure if a novelist can.
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Ian, it is interesting that you should say that because there is a small scene in the book where Olin goes to a falling down part of the camp where a man who survived it is drawing a huge mural of all the horrors that happened there. Olin thinks that perhaps art is the only way one can come close to understanding something like the Holocaust. Presumably Matthiessen intends art to mean all arts including fiction and not just visual, otherwise why even write the book he does?
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Oh I’m not so sure about that Ian. I think I’ve read some books that have explored the Holocaust in ways that have got to the nub of different aspects of its impact on humans, if that makes sense. I’m thinking of Imre Kertesz Fatelessness, Bernard Schlink’s The reader and Martin Amis’ Time’s arrow, to name three. Why don’t you think a novelist can Ian? I’m intrigued becauseI tend to think that novelists often do the best job of exploring and presenting humanity in all its glory and horror to us.
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whisperinggums, I agree that there are books that manage to capture different aspects of the time. There are also a lot of books that fall short. That novelists keep returning to it, trying to explore it and get it right speaks to both the enormity and importance of the Holocaust but also to the belief that art, fiction, can and does have something to say about it.
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Yes, Stefanie, I like that point – it’s interesting how people do keep coming back to it, and from so many different “angles”. As you say it does suggest that art can contribute to our understanding of it – and in fact I think some of the novels I’ve read have expanded my understanding – both in terms of knowledge of events that have been fictionalised and in a deeper understanding of humanity.
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I probably haven’t read the right novels! I remember somewhere in Primo Levi he says that the only authentic witness to come from Auschwitz would be from those who perished, perhaps especially those whose very identity was wiped out before destruction. I wonder if fiction has been most viable with this subject in non realist forms – Kafka (prophetically) or Ballard. I worry about the Life Is Beautiful syndrome where fiction softens and smooths over.
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I think Ian that the “story” can bear being covered from a range of tones, without our ever forgetting the horror. Even Life is beautiful conveys the horror – at least as I recollect. Interesting point though about non-realist forms.
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Years ago I somehow acquired At Play In The Fields Of The Lord, but never got around to reading it. It was written in the mid-60s so I probably got it while in college. Anyhow, it’s somewhere on one of my bookshelves and I really need to dig it out. Didn’t he and George Plimpton start The Paris Review? I might be getting that wrong. Even though you didn’t seem terribly enthusiastic about In Paradise, you’ve managed to write about it in such a way that now I want to read it as well. That’s the sign of a good reviewer.
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Grad, you are such a kind heart! You are correct that Plimpton and Matthiessen were founders of the Paris Review. I should read At Play sometime just to compare it to this book, an early novel and a last novel. LIke I said, In Paradise isn’t a bad book, it is really well done. I was expecting more than I got which is my fault more than the author’s I think. I hope you like the book when you read it!
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It’s too bad the book wasn’t quite as good as you were expecting it to be. Sounds like the character, despite being in such an emotional environment and looking for answers just never grew or changed at all–didn’t find whatever it was he was looking for, which does sound disappointing considering he subject matter. I’ve not felt especially drawn to Matthieson’s work either (not to say he isn’t good)–but with so many book choices out there….
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Danielle, you are right, Olin never really changed. He was obviously affected by what he found out about his mother but I never got a sense that upon his return home that it was going to have any sort of effect on him. Oh well, sometimes books don’t quite work out how you think they will. On to the next one!
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I think I would struggle a great deal with a romance being played out over the top of Auschwitz and its various discontents! Yuk. But like you, I’d still like to read The Snow Leopard one of these days.
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Litlove, an it wasn’t even a full-on romance. It was one of those obvious attractions in which both parties keep missing the connection for various reasons. I expect his nonfiction will be much more interesting for me.
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This sure sounds like a very unique approach to write about the Holocaust. A ‘retreat’ at Auschwitz? umm… and have the participants freely share their thoughts? But you’ve pointed out some diverging views that could make interesting storyline and conflicts. I’d like to read this book but only when I’m totally prepared psychologically and in the right mood. Like watching a Holocaust movie, it can be draining.
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Arti, it is an interesting mix for all sorts of conflict but there are genuine, unforced moments of healing too. I didn’t find the book to be very draining, there was a distance there that kept the emotional and psychological impact from being very deep, at least for me.
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